Over 16,514,195 people are on fubar.
What are you waiting for?

Eriatarka's blog: "Writings"

created on 12/16/2011  |  http://fubar.com/writings/b345328

Verbal Sedatives

A jungle of concrete grows
throughout the thickest parts of the city,
where tenants of hip hop
find eviction notices
attached to their pumas.

The rent money is due
and we only have drumbeats to sell.

The record stops,
screeching against the blacktop
where a dancer drops to the floor.

His black band is strapped
around his forearm,
cutting the circulation
to his wax arteries,
as spray paint drips
from his wrists,
coating the concrete surface.

The verbal sedatives
spill out the sides
of his mouth
and fall face-first
onto a canvas of ink.

Beside him,
a poetic flow of footsteps
crackle like a strand of hair
caught in the wax's needle.

Track marks of track shoes
swipe across the floor
as ciphers echo
revolutionary chants
of supply and demand,
"And Yes Yes Y'all,
And Ya Don't Stop!"

This heroin of culture
is too good to resist.

But its scars surface
as it seems
the beat box martyrs
are losing their faith.

We found kamikaze pilots
bombing windmills
on the ground
and wrapped their bodies
in linoleum mats,
so their ascension
into heaven
would be thwarted
and channeled
toward a more convenient place.

Lyricists
laugh at the idea
and try to resist.

536 angle changes
in a three-minute song.
Like gas tanks on Empty-
V necks of rock stars.
Big houses and fast cars.

They're working their way
out of freedom
and into change.
Like the coins in your pockets,
picked with blind direction.

They're buying their way
out of freedom
and into chains.
Gold and Platinum
chains.
Strangling their necks.

It's an attack on the subconscious.

A battle verse
and a top rock
brings their caution
flares into full swing.

An elbow to the stomach;
An elbow to the hip;
An elbow to the knee;
Freeze.

The Sting of Miasma

Antiquated by the cultural time lapse that plagues its own history; beneath the musk of ravished liberty that has been raped behind closed doors, a panopticon society rests in the lens of its overseers.  Books once trapped, backtracked and washed clean of impurities (denoting isolated instances of a culture incinerating knowledge four hundred fifty-one degrees above ground zero while peacemakers with pacemaker scars scar the impotence of a porn star mentality) now procreate terrorist threats through weapons of phallic nature, nurtured in the stranglehold of a neutered neo-degeneration.  Culture is myth.  Deep within the sleeping iris, beneath the abyss, a relapse in the fabrication of space-time ventures into the alterations of communities scratched by heretics and treason; by the lectured politics of ever so truthful falsehoods.  Erasing all, if any, fine fond memories of a life that couldn't be taken now, the grass of confusion grows.

Fortunes needles and debauchery's opiates tax the seeping pores that empty the swamps of capital commodes.  Grafting the skin of blue-tiled fields, a ceremony of innocence drowns within delusional grandeur of septic nature; civilization's way of manufacturing hope.  Hypocrisy will reign utter supremacy.  Individualism is destroyed by a mechanist parliament whose bark brings forests to gardens, guided by the highest trees that deny the smallest plants from sunlight.  Juxtaposed between the thin lines of reason and the statutes of the obscure, an occipital bush drowns any cries of conscience in its complications of vines.  Kerosene kisses for the public, while speaking behind their earlobes sets fire to their homes, conjuring vocal debts.  Lacerating the tongues, a pack of scoundrels tumble through the gates of dawn, emerging as the order of the state - the new rulers.  Masonry of a flagstone mannequin sets foot on currency, worshiping the beginning and end of the unknown.  Nationalism wreaks of empty slots - nameless in presence, fickle in origin, the vegetation of power expands over canker sore thrones.

Oscillation under ocean deformations brings forth a faction of iron pupils, their sights set forth and strengthened with revolution locked in.  Palpitations form limits, however, as many beginning tripping in dance steps synchronized.  Quintessential aspects of defiance craft the arson of firearms, knocking on the doorstep of trembling foliage.  Reality is a thing of the past, for this is the new language they speak.  Synaesthesia relates the screams fired to the color of war.  Tickling the underbelly of a totalitarian beast, the cries form ulcers that drape the overwhelming landscape of tantrums.  Unspoken accusations denounce any form of syntax, as patriotism is treason and ignorance is no alibi.  Victims of flip book lifestyles race through the ruins of an empty restraint as the foliage of the bush begin withering away, exposing the confused spine of branches and roots that grasp no ground.  Winds of indictment approach from all directions and, although they try to warm themselves inside their protective patriotism, their flag-blankets are meshed with holes of ignorance.  Xenophobes pledged and pick-pocketed now drink the red Kool-Aid in ballot form.  Yet, we've sought refuge in the security of this guillotine.  Zen breathed a cumulonimbus clearing filled with metric scathing that ransacked the recidivists, curdling their crimes of priapic psychosis with downpours of aphorisms and gnomic slurs.

Dear Ventriloquist,

We have uncovered your secret.
Your tricks are no longer spectacles,
wrecked and sectored off.

We have spotted your hand
and thwarted your attempts
to mime falsehoods into our thoughts.

But your mime fails to mine my mind's mind,
try to mind your own time.
Land mines and mind mines,
mine's miming minds while my mind's eye
finds Mayan ruins within my mind's mines.
Miles beneath the Mind's beliefs,
grows mind files to find in piles to reach.
Styles to teach while Miles plays free
jazz through open eyes and speech.

Cries relief.

Captivate the thoughts,
then die in peace.
Minds released.
Create a forest from a garden
and add vines to reach.
Divine deceased.
Divinity is a trick on the mind's eye,
designed to cease.
Lines to crease.
Lions of zion line
the spines of feet.
Crime and peace.
Kind and beast.

Rhyme and reason
during times of treason
blind the season,
where winter wars
melt and find peace in freezing.

Increased relief.

Hip Hop

A slave to the beat-
play me like cards
and trade me to the street.
For I am like the superhero
on the cardboard sleeve,
doing acrobatic tactics
that you could never achieve.

Believe me,
my energy (E) spans
like spray cans splattered
paint tans the matter (M)
in light years to see (C).
Squared, mixed and brought up
spun up to the Nth degree
times matter
to bring back my energy.

(E=EmCee^2)

I am energy equaled
rooted squares
and thoughts blared
caught glares and split hairs

I am the bboy.
I am the EmCee-
who DJ's the art
with the music inside me.

Poet Tree

Within the veins of capillaries coalesce,
a surge of inferences stuns my central operating system,
systematically stemming my siege, in vain
overthrow, under through,
and thrown out the facade of those who sought before me
out of sight, out of mind, scent of theology;

Themes tame the very hollow
shackle the grapple and tackle the shame,
the sane create the maze
sink what may follow.

Into your fantasies and fashion my fence
with disdained dissonance, obtain the outliers,
desire is the fire to our destructive sense.
With out defense, we retreat.

T-Minus ten seconds and counting,
shouting as the trip wires kiss our feet.

Crack the bell curve for what data was not served.
And find it is I who stood in fractions observed.
The factor is, me; you remember me.
I fractured the tick that time can't mend
between the tocks of clocks,
rocks slung in its very mechanism

Clogged the cogs of history,
churning the turns of mystery
hug the rungs of a tipping ladder;
I've flattened a world with branches in its spokes-
splattered.

Spoken verbs of broken words, as to change the course
Screaming through my lungs until my voice was hoarse.
Echolalia mimics your basic bypass, with none to pass this barrier.
Impale me with the tourniquet to heal my swollen vessels-
hysteria.

Plaqued and placid.
Flaccid attempts at virginal blue blood bled
exposed to oxygen. It all turns to red.
I'm drowning in my fecal again,
and find new torque in fickle torture,
torso torched, tapered at the lungs.

My tongue lunges a hunger equipped,
venom spit, blitzkrieg on softened siege
breathe bleached rocks of rubble
from beach castles, melted by the sea.
To flee past the current and into the deep,
deep inside the sleeping iris
I do see,
the reef is out of reach.
The tangled hide of coral corrode
the rose gardens drowned beneath.

Lease of eviction, our souls homeless.
Boneless, the spinal fracture amputates
the texture of its own architecture.
Amputechture, reckless texts
abstract the mess,
blessed only in its form
deformed by formalities, abnormalities.
Tapestries now truncate the limbs in slings.
and so I begin again to drift along the planks of the free
as I did when I was a child-
Bold and with a new sense of me.

Rosie.

Ring around
Rose pedals
On a closed casket
Warm rain
Running streaks
On a mother’s face
Displaced and lowered
A nation’s heads
In memory.

Pockets full
Of posed questions
Pose thought
Thoughts pose words
Prose and verse
Posed thoughts
Prose rehearsed
Posed the first
Shots.

Ashy legs
Ashy knees
As she lays
As she bleeds
As she’s lifted
To a stretcher from the ground
Ashes to ashes
We all fall.

http://www.youtube.com/embed/HIW260H0PDM

The act of prayer
is a digression from our lives.
We cup the wind with hopes
To catch the eye of deity.
At ease as streets clear of life-
Darkness plays the best role of night.
And much like when I was a child,
I cupped the wind many times
Hoping to catch a glimpse of fireflies,
And I would reach my hands out for better
intentions that when they opened together,
I would see the light.
But much like my childhood days,
I would find my open hands
empty.

last post
12 years ago
posts
8
views
4,820
can view
everyone
can comment
everyone
atom/rss
official fubar blogs
 8 years ago
fubar news by babyjesus  
 13 years ago
fubar.com ideas! by babyjesus  
 10 years ago
fubar'd Official Wishli... by SCRAPPER  
 10 years ago
Word of Esix by esixfiddy  

discover blogs on fubar

blog.php' rendered in 0.0534 seconds on machine '193'.